Undead L.A. 2

by Sagliani, Devan

  “No, man,” David said, turning to look out over set. “It smells like something is burning.”

  “It's probably just the plastic gel that was on the light,” Evan replied.

  “There,” David said, pointing onto set where the light had fallen over. There were flames running across the carpet and climbing up the side of the wall of the police station. Dark black smoke began to waft up towards them. Just then a loud thud shook the scissor lift, nearly causing David to topple out of the metal cage and over the side. A terrifying roar brought them both to full attention. David and Evan peered down to see the transformed versions of their cast and crew, along with dozens of formerly homeless people, ringing the lift trying to knock it over.

  “That ain't good,” Evan said sourly.

  “Russ!” David shouted. “Where is everyone? Jessa! Stephen!”

  “I think we're on our own now,” Evan gulped.

  “Got any ideas?” David asked.

  “I'm fresh out,” Evan replied, a sick look enveloping his features as he stared down at the monsters below.

  The lift shook again. Several of the zombies threw their bodies against the base trying to knock down fresh victims to feed on. David peered out at the parking lot through the open studio doors. Hundreds more of the fiends were swarming across the asphalt, making their way in and towards the last two living people on set.

  Not for long, he thought as he lifted the prop gun up and put it to Evan's temple. Evan held his hands up in fear. Beads of sweat poured down his temple.

  “What are you doing, boss man?”

  “It's the only way not to become one of them.”

  “Hold on a minute now.” Evan's face was ghostly pale. His lips trembled in fear.

  “We don't have a minute,” David said, shaking his head. “I'm sorry.”

  He pulled the trigger before Evan could reply. Chunks of blood, skull, skin, and brains flew loose, raining down on the horde of monsters below and driving them into a frenzy. The scissor lift shook violently as the monsters threw their bodies once more against it, wailing in anticipation of their next hot-blooded meal. David was reloading the gun when a blow knocked him loose, throwing him face first into a pile of terrible teeth.

  Not for long.

  The last thing he heard was the sound of his skull cracking as he hit the concrete studio floor face first. After that it was all blessed darkness.

  ***

  Samantha didn't know what she was doing anymore. She wandered aimlessly through the streets, driven only by hunger. The sound of wailing sirens in the distance grew further and further away. She looked up to see the JW Marriott above her. A vague memory of once being there flickered through the remnants of her mind, but it was impossible to hold on to. She didn't know who she was anymore, but that didn't matter. All that mattered was the hunger now. It was all she could feel. There was no pain other than hunger. Hunger was her god. She yearned to worship again at its alter, to dig her teeth into warm living flesh and taste the hot blood spurting into her mouth, reviving her, taking away all of her pain for just one moment.

  A thin woman with stringy hair stumbled into her path and stopped. Samantha sniffed the air in confusion. She looked like food, but something about her didn't smell right.

  “I'm not even fit to feed the dead,” the woman yelled, tilting her head back to the night sky. “I'm ready now. There is nothing left for me in this world anymore.”

  Samantha watched as the woman walked off towards the hotel lobby, her stomach growling with a fresh wave of hunger pains. The world belonged to her kind now. The world belonged to the awful bottomless hunger.

  ***

  The Hollywood Sign was a landmark and American cultural icon located in Los Angeles, California.

  Originally reading HOLLYWOODLAND and used to advertise the name of a new housing development, the sign sat high up on Mount Lee, in the Hollywood Hills area of the Santa Monica Mountains, overlooking Hollywood itself.

  Erected in 1923 the white capital letters were each 45-feet-tall and ran 350 feet in length.

  It was protected by a security system to deter vandalism and promoted by The Trust For Public Land, a nonprofit organization, while its site and the surrounding land were part of Griffith Park.

  Visitors looking from the ground up witnessed that the contours of the hills gave the sign a wavy appearance, yet when observed at a comparable altitude, the letters appeared to be nearly level.

  The sign made frequent appearances in popular culture, particularly in establishing shots for films and television programs set in or around Hollywood. Signs of similar style, but spelling different words, were frequently seen as parodies of the iconic sign abounded.

  ***

  THE CHOSEN ONES

  They huddled together in the corner of the luxury apartment like cornered rats. The double windows of the second story rental property looked out into a courtyard swarming with animated corpses, all sporting fresh signs of injury. Chad saw bare arms with torn, bloody skin hanging off them in peels, many with faces to match. He saw demonic-looking creatures that barely resembled humans, most with thick blood pouring from their unblinking eyes, many foaming at the mouth, black bile drooling from the remains of their chewed lips and dribbling over their designer dresses or blood soaked T-shirts. Some had deep gashes in their abdomens allowing their guts to protrude in blood-slicked piles from their fatal wounds. Some had teeth lacerations on their scalps and foreheads, tears in the flesh just below the tufts of hair that only hours before had neatly and stylishly covered their skulls. In Chad’s estimation, a fair number were already missing body parts. Hobbling anxiously along on limbs deformed by an unseen calamity that left white bone shards sticking out through shredded denim jeans or through the sallow, loose skin of their mangled arms, they looked more like desperate addicts under the spell of some dangerous new designer street drug that blocked all the pain while driving them to new heights of insanity.

  And the way they moan, Chad thought. It's like it gives you a chill all the way to the bottom of your soul to hear just one of them, much less the full chorus it sets off in the others. Even those with their throats torn open can make that terrible sound, like the song you imagine a sad demon might sing in the darkest pit of the deepest hell after having its blackened little heart broken for the first time.

  The majority of the monsters lurking outside had their throats and necks torn to bits. That didn't come as much of a surprise considering he'd suspected that zombies would go for the easiest and most rewarding targets of their victims first, like a kid eating his brownie sundae before his steamed broccoli. It was the constant moaning that threw him off more than anything—well, that and the ocular stigmata. He'd thought for sure they'd catch a break by heading up to the second floor, since zombies couldn't figure out elevators and lacked the coordination to use stairs as far as he knew. What he hadn't counted on was the parking garage ramp leading right to their hiding spot in apartment 213. The front door to the unit had been left ajar by whoever vacated it last. They'd rushed in without thinking and locked the door behind them, praying they were alone. A quick inspection of the impressive luxury apartment revealed they were. Since it was in the crook of the building's L-shape configuration, it featured an almost panoramic view of the cursed courtyard. Chad shook his head in disbelief as he took in the nightmarish view of the end of the world. More than anything he was amazed by how quickly it had happened. He'd expected the extinction event to take months. Instead, it seemed like the world he knew was transformed in a matter of just minutes.

  That's something I hadn't counted on, he thought bitterly. But I should have. Why didn't I at least take a weapon with me?

  They'd locked the door before the bulk of biters wandering in from the car park had a chance to get close to them, but they'd been spotted for sure. Watching the way the monsters below sniffed at the air, Chad knew it wouldn't be long before a mob of undead maniacs began trying to force their way in to feast on their hot fl
esh. The unit was sparsely furnished, but Chad found a hammer and nails in the supply closet. Working as a team they'd managed to bust up the furniture and use it to barricade the only point of entry accessible: the front door. When they first started the pounding, there had been just a couple of frustrated zombies on the other side. By the time they were finished, it sounded like an angry mob of shoppers getting ready to stampede employees at a Walmart Black Friday sale.

  “You think there's any chance they might just get tired and give up?” Skylar asked.

  “No,” Chad answered. “I think now that they have our smell they'll just keep coming until they get through the door.”

  “You don't know that,” she shot back, her voice quivering.

  “You're right,” he admitted. “I don't have a clue what's going to happen. I'm just glad that I'm right here with you when it does unfold.”

  A loud thump on the other side of the wall made them both jump. Chad laughed nervously, shaking his head in disbelief at how things were turning out.

  “So with the whole world ending, and flesh eating zombies waiting to pick the meat off our bones like a Thanksgiving turkey, you don't regret it?”

  “Regret what?”

  “I mean, you didn't have to come back for me,” she said meekly. “You could have stayed where you were safe and let the soldiers worry about how to extract me. You really don't regret it?”

  “No,” he said in a steady voice, staring her in the eyes. “I don't regret it.”

  “Not even a little bit?” she pried.

  “Not even a little bit,” he repeated confidently.

  “You don't have to say that just to make me feel better,” she told him, her eyes searching his for any sign of second thoughts, and coming up short.

  “I'd rather die a million times by your side then live a single life without you, baby,” he assured her, leaning in and softly kissing her lips. “We said forever, right?”

  “Forever and ever,” she sighed, a tear escaping her eyes.

  He reached over and wiped it away without a second thought.

  “I sure am going to miss the showers in the survival bunkers,” she laughed, then bit her lip. “The one at your place always runs out of hot water about halfway through washing my hair.”

  “You didn't seem to mind earlier,” he taunted. “Come to think of it, you didn't even seem to notice.”

  “The showers they have down below the mountain are like the ones at some kind of fancy hotel,” she said, her eyes going unfocused as she loses a part of herself in a wonderful memory. “The day they took me I sat in there for almost three hours, crying and thinking about how to get back to you.”

  “I guess I'll never know how that feels now,” he stated. “I wasn't there long enough to take one.”

  “I don't know what I ever did to deserve you,” she said, leaning over and planting a kiss on his cheek. “I'm so lucky to be with you.”

  “We'll figure this out,” he promised her, squeezing her hand and trying to make himself believe it as well.

  “I know we will,” she agreed, hugging him with every last ounce of strength she had. “We have to. We just have to.”

  Chad knew they were just words, that there was little chance of things turning out well for them, but he did his best not to think about it. He let his mind wander back to the safety of the past, back to just twenty-four hours earlier when he'd made the choice that had left him and his lover smack dab in the center of the zombie apocalypse, praying to be rescued.

  The growling outside the door intensified as they huddled together.

  You didn't have to come back for me, she'd said.

  But he did in more ways than one. He knew that, too. It wasn't just finding her that drove him from the bunker, it was getting away from them.

  * * * *

  Chad had been working at the club, just getting set up for the night, when a detail of armed soldiers had burst in as if they were securing a hostile village of enemy combatants in a remote part of Pakistan. He'd shaken his head in disgust at the sight of them, knowing instantly that they were there about Skylar. A bitterness began to blossom as all the pain he'd been trying to ignore came flooding back in.

  When you're in love and things ain't going well it's like the whole world is a thorn bush, he thought. Everything cuts you, no matter which way you turn. Just like everything somehow reminds you of the one person you can't have after they’ve left you.

  The lead soldier approached him with his weapon drawn.

  “Chad Kastin?”

  “Who wants to know?” Chad shot back, looking past the soldier to see several uniformed cops standing at the door as well. Their presence was a surprise, since usually it was just the G.I. Joes that Skylar's old man would sic on him when he felt like pulling a power trip.

  He's never gone so far as to involve the local authorities in the past, Chad realized, sensing for the first time that something was off.

  “Mr. Kastin, my name is Sergeant Major Timothy Underwood,” the solder said as he locked his piercing grey eyes on him in a menacing stare, his weapon and those of his men still trained on the massive former fighter. Chad was used to other guys being threatened by his size, not to mention the heavy tribal tattoos he had running from his wrists all the way up to and around his thick, muscular neck. He just wasn't used to trained warriors sizing him up, and feeling nervous at what they saw.

  “Good for you, pal,” Chad said, unimpressed. “But you and your friends will have to wait like everyone else until we open at six. Sorry, Timmy. I'm still getting set up for the night. Come back later.”

  Chad could tell immediately that the Sergeant Major was both shocked and disappointed not to see Chad's disrespectful demeanor change once he learned he was dealing with a high-ranking officer. He got the feeling this man was used to having other guys kiss his ass once they knew who he was, but it wasn't his style.

  If this guy expects me to buckle under pressure he's in for a surprise, Chad thought with some amusement. I don't rattle that easy, soldier boy.

  “I've been charged with delivering you to General Franks,” the Sergeant Major said, ignoring Chad's dig. “Please come with me.”

  “You're wasting your time,” Chad shot back. “Skylar pulled a disappearing act on me about two weeks ago. I haven't seen or heard from her since. And you know what? It's probably that prick's fault if you wanna know the truth. Feel free to tell him I said that! Now if you don't mind, I've got a bar to get set up before happy hour hits.”

  “Time is of the essence, sir,” the Sergeant Major testily snapped back. “You can come willingly, or we can bind and gag you, but make no mistake about it my big friend, you are coming with us.”

  The soldier took a menacing step forward and Chad felt himself involuntarily raising his fists in response. It was an impulse drilled into him by his first trainer back when he was just learning how to fight as a snot-nosed teenager living over

  the hill in North Hollywood. Freddie used to smack him upside the head over and over until Chad got to the point that just seeing him made his fists curl, and he’d spring up like a dueling Jack-in-the-box. A dry laugh unexpectedly tore out of him at the memory of those days, how scrawny and pathetic he had once been. He'd been molded into a hell of a fighter in just a few short years.

  “This is your last warning,” the Sergeant Major barked, stepping back and pointing the weapon at him. “This ain't the ring, champ, and guess what? You're not the real deal. You never were.”

  The return dig wasn't lost on Chad. Back when he'd been on a winning streak that earned him respect from topnotch contenders, ESPN had done a write-up on him calling him the next Evander Holyfield. All of that was shattered after a competitor spiked his drink one night at a club. He'd blacked out and woken up in a jail cell with the worst headache of his life. Before his bail hearing, his lawyer informed him that he'd run up a tab and refused to pay it, roughing up the waitress and several security guards. The police were called, and when
they arrived Chad allegedly went into full Beast Mode according to several eyewitnesses. When it was over he'd been cuffed and dragged to the back of a cop car, but not before breaking one cop’s leg and leaving another officer in a coma with possible brain damage. Chad told his lawyer that he didn't believe a word he was saying, but his counsel had brought along the morning paper to show his celebrity client that he'd made the front page of the L.A. Times. It was the end of his career, plain and simple. After seeing the video footage, he pled down to aggravated assault and ended up getting a huge fine and five years probation, narrowly avoiding doing time on account of being able to prove that someone had slipped him a Mickey Finn. That hadn't mattered to Freddy though, who had kicked him out of the gym for life.

  After that, he'd found his way into another life for a while, one that centered on collecting money and doing security gigs for shady people with too much cash. He knew for a fact that some of his employers were drug kingpins and arms dealers, but he also knew he didn't want to give up his newly leased Phantom or his penthouse apartment. All the jobs were terrible, no doubt about it, but there was one that was decidedly worse than the rest—so bad in fact that it had driven him out of the business side of the criminal underworld and into bartending instead.

  “In fact, the only reason you're not rotting behind bars right now serving life with all the other dirt bags up in Chino is because that cop lived,” the Sergeant Major continued. “As far as I'm concerned you're no different than those animals.”

  He's right and he's wrong, Chad mused. For a while, I was one of them...before I turned things around that is.

  He'd been in the middle of a big MDMA deal—over a hundred thousand pills of pure ecstasy—when things had gone wrong. They were up on Mulholland waiting for the product to arrive, the jet black SUV parked facing down towards the San Fernando Valley side. Chad and two other guys were only there to make sure things went smoothly for the contact who'd set up the handoff—a low level street dealer by the name of Slim Buddha, who bore a striking resemblance to Drexl Spivey from True Romance. The trouble started when Slim became squeamish and began insisting that everyone do a line of cocaine with him to prove they weren't cops. Chad didn't have patience for that kind of nonsense, and didn't plan on inhaling God-knows-what to prove anything to anyone. He made his feelings known and things quickly devolved, with Slim brandishing a .38 and threatening to dump him over the side of the hill into the bushes. Before Chad had a chance to find out if the asshole was serious, an ambush team that had been hiding in the bushes along Mulholland emerged and surrounded the car, AK-47s drawn and ready. Chad fought his way out, tackling and disarming the one closest to him before knocking him out and taking his weapon. He'd fired a volley of warning shots into the air that caused the others to momentarily scatter, but there was serious money in play and he knew it wouldn't hold them off long. He bolted in the confusion and never looked back, running down Coldwater Canyon towards Ventura Boulevard in the dark, and praying he wouldn't get run down by club kids or eaten by coyotes along the way. He'd been picked up by a kind elderly couple in an old silver Volvo, and dropped off at Du-par's at the bottom of the hill. The next day he'd gone out and gotten the gig at the club as the door guy slash bouncer. It meant leaving behind the lavish lifestyle he'd grown accustomed to, but it also meant he didn't have to worry about being murdered at work, at least most nights. He'd worked his way up to tending bar, then becoming manager. Things hadn't been so bad after that.